Help me see my son grow up

I’m facing the fight of my life...

Prodding my left breast, I was certain I could feel a lump. Deja vu.

I’d had something similar before – but after being checked out, I’d been told it was nothing to worry about.

I just put it down to having lumpy boobs.

But now I could also feel something in my neck.

Telling myself everything was fine, I booked an appointment with my GP – just in case.

Examining the lump, the doctor then referred me for a mammogram.

When they then booked me in for a biopsy, alarm bells started ringing. The results came back... ‘You have breast cancer,’ the specialist said. And there was more. The cancer had spread to my lymph nodes.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to take in the information. Maybe with chemotherapy, I would be fine.

I had to be. I had my son Dylan, 7, to live for.

Telling my parents Robert and Susan, and my husband Ian, 42, was hard. ‘I’m going to fight this,’ I said. I wanted to stay positive. But two weeks later, an oncology appointment changed my life forever.

Walking into Macclesfield District General Hospital, I thought I was just there to organise my chemo.

My dad waited as I went in to see the doctor.

After a brief chat about how I was doing, the doctor dropped a bombshell.

‘The cancer is incurable,’ she said.

She went on to say that I had between two and four years. I felt faint. The room spun. In a state of shock, I tried to process her words.

‘Please get my dad,’ I stammered.

He couldn’t believe it. We sat

in silence during the drive to my parents’ house.

As soon as I saw Mum and told her the news, we broke down.

I’d been in shock and it suddenly came flooding out. I collapsed on the floor sobbing.

Ringing Ian, I tried to hide my emotion, but he knew something was up and I had to break the news.

How was I going to tell Dylan that his mummy wouldn’t see him grow up, finish school, get married, have children?

The doctor had said there was no treatment. But there had to be something I could do. Turning to Google, I found a specialist treatment in Germany – immunotherapy.

It’s not available on the NHS for my disease.

At a cost of at least £100,000, it’s pricey, but the results speak for themselves.

People with cancer like mine had gone into remission.

Hope.

I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. But how was I going to raise so much money? I put the word out and the whole community rallied, organising events like discos, a darts tournament and a sponsored head shave. Dylan’s school has raised thousands for me. Five months down the line, I’ve made £30,000. Touchingly, my parents have offered to sell their house. I told them they don’t have to, but they’re insisting.

‘You’d do the same for Dylan,’ they say. And I truly would. I’ve had six rounds of chemotherapy so far and have lost all my hair.

Dylan is finding it hard to understand it all.

‘Mummy has the same illness as David from Emmerdale,’ I’d told him as we curled up on the sofa watching the soap one night.

He gets that I’m poorly, but I couldn’t bear to tell him everything.

For as long as I can keep it from him, I will do.

I’m now counting down the days, hours, minutes, until I have enough money for the treatment.

It’s all I think about and the one thing keeping me going.

We found out in June that the chemo hadn’t shrunk the 6cm tumour. Yet more heartbreak. But I’m trying to focus on reaching my target and going to Germany.

It’s the last chance I have at survival.

Without it, Dylan won’t even be a teenager before he loses his mum.

No child deserves to go through that.

For now, we’re spending as much time as possible together as a family. Every moment is precious. I hope that people will continue to help me raise the money.

Every donation fills me with hope and gets me a little closer to the chance of seeing my son grow up.

My parents have even offered to sell their house...

I can’t tell him everything...

To help Emma, visit www. gofundme.com/dylansmum